At the moment, The Bug is dealing with feelings and thoughts that she is struggling to understand.
She says that she is scared of her bedroom. Of what or who, I do not know. She doesn't even know. She cries every night at bedtime, on the verge of hysteria that she is scared.
She has regressed with her toilet training. She will happily wear undies to school and boast an accident-free day but at home it is a different story. She insists on wearing a nappy every other day.
She is easily frustrated with her brother. Fists clenched, she marches over to him and shoves him. Hits him. Screams at him.
She screams when we leave my Mum's house. The entire drive home is spent with her in tears, wailing for her beloved "Ginny".
She whinges and whines from dawn to dusk.
It is supposed to be my job as her mother to guide her, reassure her and soothe her frustration.
The problem is that I am struggling to understand them too, and struggling to cope with helping her to cope.
I am terrified that I am failing her.
I am ashamed to say that her behaviour is a major source of anxiety for me.
The minute she launches into another episode, I cringe as I feel myself getting tighter and tighter.
The ball of anxiety gathers in my chest and my breathing becomes laboured.
My head begins to thump.
The only thing I can think of to run.
Run away.
Get the noise and trouble away from me.
I fear my head may explode from all the tension.
I yell.
ENOUGH!
She cries harder or worse still, retreats into a ball. Shaking, whimpering.
My heart shatters in a thousand pieces.
How can I do this to her?
She doesn't deserve this. She is just a baby - My baby.
Why can I not get a hold of things?
Why do I feel incapable of being the mother that I so desperately want to her to have?
Am I alone?
